


Wings wouldn't help you

by midearthwritings



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Platonic Relationships, References to Depression, Romantic Friendship, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 10:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midearthwritings/pseuds/midearthwritings
Summary: Lindir brings you back to life.
Relationships: Lindir (Tolkien)/Reader
Kudos: 6





	Wings wouldn't help you

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone reading this is suffering from Depression, or think they are Depressed, please reach out for help. I know it's hard, but you're not alone and it does get better. I promise.  
> Originally published on Tumblr (@midearthwritings)

Beneath your cheek, the pillow is hot, and wet. It is uncomfortable but you cannot bring yourself to move. The tears won't stop falling, they burn and bruise your skin mercilessly. The room is dark, blurry. Your eyes are wide open but you cannot see, the emptiness of your soul infecting your body, taking your senses away. It has been days since you had last left the comfort of your bed, and it would probably take even longer for you to leave it again. The smell coming from you is unpleasant, and you know a bath would be more than welcome. But you cannot bring yourself to care. The smallest movement hurts in a way you didn't think was possible. Would you even be able to reach the door?

The night is quiet, beautiful. Through the window, the Moon stares at you. She mocks your sick figure. While you feel empty, incomplete, she's whole and wonderful, steals everybody's attention. She even has yours, as you stare back. How you envy her, broken hearted and dying slowly in your bedsheets. 

"I wish I knew how to ease your pain." You had forgotten his presence, and his voice startles you. His hand, gentle and barely touching you, caresses your arm reassuringly. 

You want to answer, to let him know you are still here and that you too, would love to know. The words get stuck in your throat and you choke on them. If you try harder, you know you are going to throw up. 

He does not force them out. He just stays there, by your side. It is nice, in a way, to know you are not so alone. If only it could be enough to end the tears.

When the weight of his palm disappears, you feel cold. A brutal winter wind, destroying everything and leaving nothing.

Soft notes rise, chasing the cold away. The chants of a harp. It is low, a whisper, as if he was playing from afar. But you know he's close. In the dark, you imagine his slender fingers tickling the cords, bending them to his will, making them sing for you. 

The melody is new, something you have never heard before. The pounding headache is not enough to stop the pictures to form themselves in your mind. There are no words, maybe not even a title to the piece, but it is about hope, about love.

The words pour out of his mouth like the clear water in Rivendell's baths. They fall into your ears, a foreign song of which you do not understand all the lyrics. You can only catch a few words, here and there. He talks of flowers, and birds, of the sun and other stars illuminating the sky. Breathing quietly, not to disrupt his reading, you trace invisible patterns on the silky sheets. You draw the curves of each syllable, paint the rhymes as they leave his lips. The symphony of his verse warms your heart. Somewhat, it soothes the pain. 

Lindir too, is beautiful. The brown cascade flowing down his shoulders, adorned with a delicate tiara makes him look divine. He reminds you of the trees basking in the pale moonlight. Perhaps one day you will have him sit for you, get his portrait done. 

Slowly, his voice dies down, and with it, the beautiful words. Already, you miss them and wish for more. 

"Was it to your liking?" The uncertainty of the his question makes you smile. His eyes reflects the turmoil inside him. Never had you wished for him to suffer from the sadness devouring your soul. Guiltily, you take his hand in yours. The smooth skin reminds you of an infant's. 

"It would be, if only I knew the meaning of it." A light shade of red colors the tip of his ears, and your smile only grows bigger. 

Many moons had passed since the first time you spoke to one another, and you still find it easy to embarass him. You know the path is still long before he feels entirely at ease with each word you say, before his shell breaks completely. Even if it never does, the love you have for Lindir will not fade.

With a soft caress of your thumb on his hand, you silently apologise for your mockery.

"Lindir, _Mellon Nín_ , read to me again." Shutting your eyes, you listen as the soft-spoken elf lulls you into unconsciousness.

Written, the words look as beautiful as they sound. For the hundredth time, you read them, your eyes lingering on each curve of Lindir's handwriting. Although reading it yourself is not the same as when he did it for you, you never get tired of it. You know the poem by heart now, and the translation he provided is not needed anymore for you to understand.

Wildflowers and discarded feathers fill your mind. You can imagine the sun peeking through the clouds so clearly, it feels as if you were currently watching it. As a soft sigh escape your lips, the windows calls for you. The green leaves waving, pleading for you to come outside. This bed held you captive for so long. You laid there, drowning in your own sorrow, waiting for death to take you away. Now you miss the gentle wind, the birds chirping happily amongst the trees. 

Quietly, the door opens and closes. He does not knock anymore. He stopped when he realized you never answered. You don't mind.

" _Mae govannen_ , Lindir." You greet him, folding the parchment in your hands. Soon, the strong scent of sugar assaults your nostrils, sweet and enticing, making your stomach groan. "What is it that I smell?"

The bed shifts as he sits down next to you. On a silver tray lies a dozen of delicious looking pastries. It is only as you look at them, mouth watering, that you realize you are hungry. 

"I baked them myself." To say you feel privileged in this instant would be an understatement. You will forever be grateful for the way he is taking care of you. Even when mortality finally parts your ways, your gratitude will remain. 

Shyly, you take the smallest looking one. As you bring it closer to your face, the smell fills your nose. It is sweet, intoxicating. You take a bite and let a pleasantly surprised noise. It looked good, but once on your tongue, it is exquisite. It tastes of fresh fruits, a little bit of honey and perhaps, of mint. The ingredients balance each other perfectly. When you swallow, there is no bitter aftertaste, and you pop the rest into your mouth.

As you eat, his eyes never leave you. The worries slowly faded, replaced with hope. For a second, you look at him as if he was a mirror. Days had passed, and with it, the heartache and crippling emptiness. In your heart is now a new feeling of joy, peace. 

"I did not know you could bake so well." You point out. You lick your fingertips, cleaning the sticky remainders of sugar.

"Neither did I." He replied with a smile, visibly satisfied with your words. Or maybe is he simply relieved to see you so eager to eat?

And you, too, are relieved. The harp is still standing proudly in a corner of your room, the one on which he played the softest songs as you cried. In your lap, the folded poem still lies, waiting for you to read it once more, for it was written for you. And the many little desserts he spent so much time baking, never before had you tasted something that good. Without Lindir, without his love and his care, this flicker of hope would have died down long ago. Now, the flame burns, big and strong in your heart, promise of better days to come. 

Perhaps it is time to welcome the Sun back into your life.


End file.
